


i saw you in the blazing light

by connorswhisk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Yikes, but anyway. hopping on the trend of writing fix it fics because i saw the finale and, however dumb this might be it won't be as bad as the actual canon and that's on period, i cannot believe that i wrote fucking destiel fanfic in the year 2020, me. destiel fic. 2020. kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk
Summary: Sam tells Dean that he doesn't want to hunt anymore. Dean doesn't know what to do except save Cas from the Empty and figure it out from there. But, of course, things are really awkward with Cas. After...everything.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	i saw you in the blazing light

**Author's Note:**

> ***I HAVE NOT WATCHED ALL OF SUPERNATURAL. ONLY THE FIRST 4 SEASONS OR SO + THE FINALE. EVERYTHING ELSE I HAVE LEARNED FROM INTERNET OSMOSIS***
> 
> that being said, hopefully this doesn't suck ass too much
> 
> title taken from it froze me by the mountain goats

It’s Sam who first tentatively breaches the subject of not hunting anymore, because of course it is.

It’s not like Dean was going to do it.

“Don’t you think we’ve been through enough?” he pushes, trying to make eye contact with Dean, who just shovels more eggs into his mouth and tries to drown out everything else with the sound of his chewing.

“Don’t know what you mean,” he says airily, determinedly looking at the grain in the wood of the table instead of at Sam.

Sam sighs. “Dean, just…just don’t, ok? Look at me.”

Dean sets his jaw and looks. His brother looks tired. His brother looks weary. His brother looks _old._ It’s not like Dean’s never noticed it before, the aging, they’ve been at this for fifteen years for Chrissake, of course he’s noticed it. But in this moment (and maybe it’s the time of morning, or maybe it’s the light in the kitchen bringing attention to his face), the lines around Sam’s eyes look deeper than ever.

And Sam’s supposed to be the young one. Which makes Dean wonder how old _he_ looks.

“We’ve done everything,” Sam’s saying. “Isn’t it time to stop and do nothing?”

Dean swallows. “Of course not. Because every time we save the world, something else happens.”

“Shit, Dean,” Sam says. “Something’s always happening. It’s not our job to fix it every time.”

“Isn’t it?”

Sam shoots him a look full of pity and sorrow, and Dean doesn’t deserve it, no way in hell.

“We’re gonna die some day,” Sam continues. “Die for _real._ Someone else will have to save the world then. Why not pass on the torch now?”

“That’s selfish, Sammy, and you know it,” Dean says angrily, feeling his shoulders start to hunch. “We don’t _get_ to pass on the torch.”

“Maybe we have the right to be selfish,” Sam retorts, and he sounds mad now, too. “After all the bullshit we’ve been put through? Selfishness is the _least_ we deserve.” He stands up, bracing himself on the back of his chair, that familiar glare angled in Dean’s direction. “Look, Jack’s in charge, now. He’s going to work everything out that needs to be worked out. And there’ll be hunters after us, Dean, there are _always_ new hunters. God, why do you have to be so _stubborn?_ ” His chest is rising and falling now, his arms trembling against the chair. “Just _stop_ for once. _It’s ok._ I want to be with Eileen. I want Jack to be happy. Don’t you want that for him? Don’t you want to relax? Don’t you want to go and save Cas - “

Dean’s teeth clench without him meaning to do it. Sam swallows roughly.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He knows he could go to Jack any time, ask him to pull Cas out of the Empty for him, and that Jack would do it, of course he would. It’s just that…Dean has a lot of things to say. Things he hasn’t exactly worked out yet.

There’s just too much.

“Dean.”

“It’s fine,” he says distantly. “Don’t worry about it, Sammy.”

“I _do_ worry about you, though,” Sam says. “I just want you to be happy. I’m happy with Eileen, and you…”

He doesn’t say it, but Dean hears it.

“I don’t want to hunt anymore.” Sam sits gently back down. “And I don’t think you want to, either.”

“I - “ Dean starts to say.

“It’s not the same,” Sam says. “It isn’t. Don’t you ever dream of settling down? Having a real house, not a bunker? Someone with you?”

Dean swallows. “Dad tried to do that with Mom. With us. Look how well that worked out.”

“You’re not Dad,” Sam says simply.

Dean says nothing.

“I’m going to be with her,” Sam says. “If you really want to keep hunting, I’ll stay. But I think I’m going to leave.”

Dean shakes his head. “Look, if I - Maybe. _Maybe_ I’ll stop. If I…If I get Cas back, maybe I won’t go on any more hunts. I’ll see how I feel. How about that?”

Sam shrugs. “If that’s what you want to do. Do you want me to…come with you?”

“No.”

“Ok,” Sam says, nodding. “Ok.”

**— — —**

“Do you think you’re ready?” Jack asks him.

_No,_ he thinks.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

**— — —**

The Empty is cold and dark and bottomless. Dean had brushed Jack away, told him he was going to do it himself, but he can still feel a small part of Jack with him, buzzing in his chest, perched on his shoulder, and he tries to focus on that and none of his racing thoughts, bouncing around his head like a goddamn pinball machine.

He still doesn’t know what he’s going to say. _Something._ Something.

And there’s a figure huddled on the ground, black hair and a grubby white shirt, and even though the Empty is nothing, here is something, here is something familiar.

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean breathes.

He looks up, and it’s only been two _weeks,_ but Dean’s heart stutters, and it feels like he hasn’t seen Cas in years.

It’s in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the upturned smile, the bob of his throat as he swallows. Castiel gets slowly to his feet, and somehow, Dean feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

“You came.”

But there’s something different about him, something a little off. Dean has seen this look before, and he wants it gone as quickly possible, wants Cas to go back to normal, to goback to being _Cas._

“Of course,” Dean hears himself say. “Couldn’t leave you down here on your own, could I?”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not on my own,” he says, but before Dean can begin to process what _that_ could mean, Cas is hugging him.

Dean feels the lump in his throat but ignores it, just wraps his arms around Cas, feels every inch of him and breathes deep, _Cas, Cas, Cas._

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Dean mutters, his voice coming out scratchy. “I should have come sooner.”

Cas leans back, eyes teary, and Dean feels his own burn. “It’s ok. Jack said you needed time.”

“He could have just pulled you out,” Dean remarks, not bothering to dry his face.

“I wanted to wait for you. I knew you’d come eventually.”

“Right.”

Cas beams again, all soft and rounded edges, and Dean clears his throat and says, “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Dean hesitates. “Cas - “

Cas tilts his head, and the motion is so familiar that Dean almost starts crying all over again.

Instead, he stops and then,

“What the hell happened to your coat?”

**— — —**

He doesn’t say the things he wants to say, the things he knows he _should_ say. He needs more time. Just a little more time.

But he’s scared because he knows he’s running out of it.

**— — —**

Jack cries when he sees them. Dean had suspected he might.

“I missed you,” Jack says, voice muffled in Cas’s shoulder.

Cas rubs his back. “I missed you, too. I missed you, too.”

He motions for Dean to join them, and so Dean does, wrapping his arms around the both of them, and this, right here, is enough to keep him grounded, enough to keep him from floating away from what he needs to do.

“Sam is at Eileen’s,” Jack says once he pulls back. “If you want to see him.”

Cas nods. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters. “Thanks, Jack.” He turns to Cas. “I guess we’d better go, then.”

“Yes, we should.”

**— — —**

“Uh, wait,” Dean says when they reach the Impala. “Hang on a second.”

Cas doesn’t ask, just waits patiently for Dean to open the trunk and pull out one of Cas’s trench coats, hand it over to him wordlessly.

Cas smiles. “You kept one in your car.”

Dean coughs. “Yeah, well…y’know…”

“Thank you,” Cas says.

“Don’t mention it.”

He puts it on and he looks a little more like himself again, not how the Empty made him. Dean reaches out, brushes off some of the dirt from the shoulders.

“Sorry,” he says. “Got a little grimy.”

Cas grins, and Dean’s breath catches the way it always has and the way it always will whenever he looks at him. His hands are still on Cas’s shoulders, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to take them off.

Somehow, though, impossibly, he does. They’ve got to get going if they want to make good time.

“Zeppelin?” Dean asks once he starts the car.

“Maybe something simpler.”

“Sure.” Dean pulls out one of Sam’s Beatles tapes and presses play.

And then it’s quiet. It’s so quiet. Nothing but the tinny music and the noise of the road as they make the journey to Eileen’s. It’s impossible to tell who will break the silence first.

But as it turns out, it’s Cas. Of course.

“Poetic, isn’t it?”

“Poetic?”

“In a way.” Cas looks over at him and Dean glances back.

“How is it poetic, Cas?”

“Well,” he says. “I raised you out of Hell. And you got me out of the Empty.”

“So it’s payback, then,” Dean jokes, heart racing. “I don’t owe you anything anymore. Shit, only took me _ten years._ ”

“It isn’t payback,” Cas says. “You’ve payed me back by saving my life more times than I can count. It’s just poetic. It feels _right._ ”

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly. “Yeah, it does.”

Cas doesn’t really say anything else after that, and neither does Dean, and he wonders when they’ll talk about it, because they have to, they _have_ to talk about it sometime, sometime soon.

_Falling, yes, I am falling,_ Paul McCartney sings, and Dean kind of wants to tell him to shut his damn trap, if he knows what’s good for him.

They make it to Eileen’s place eventually, and she hugs them, and Sam cries, and Dean tries and fails to stop himself from crying again, too, and Cas looks so peaceful that Dean feels like the worst person in the universe to leave him in that place for so long, even if it only _was_ for a couple of weeks.

Eileen sets them up in her downstairs guest bedroom with a wink and a, “Behave yourselves, now.” Dean doesn’t say anything to that, just raises an eyebrow as if to ask her, _How about_ you _do that?_

Seriously. Dean doesn’t need to hear anything coming from upstairs. That’s his _brother,_ for fuck’s sake.

“Which bed do you want?”

It feels weird to ask him. It feels unnatural. To be perfectly honest, it feels like there shouldn’t _be_ two separate beds in the first place.

“I’ll, uh,” Cas says. “I’ll have this one.” He takes off his coat and folds it neatly, sets it on the end of the bed nearest the window.

“Good view?” Dean asks, purposefully and meaningfully turning away to give Cas some privacy while he changes into the t-shirt and sweats Eileen lent him.

“Can’t see much,” Cas’s voice comes. “Dark out.”

Dean swallows. “Right. You done?”

“I’m done.”

Dean turns back around. The sweatpants are slung a little low about his hips, shirt a little too loose around the neck area. Cas’s collarbones are on full display. Dean tries not to stare too obviously at them.

“Ok,” Dean says awkwardly. “You need anything? Glass of water or something?”

“I think I just want to go to sleep,” Cas says.

Dean nods. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.” He turns to his bed, turns back around. “Cas, I - “

“I’m tired, Dean,” he says, crawling underneath the covers. “Tomorrow, ok?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Yeah, ok. You’re right. Tomorrow.”

And he gets the sense, as he goes to switch off the light, that maybe Cas is trying to put this inevitable talk off as much as he is.

_It’s weird to be so near him without being_ with _him,_ Dean thinks. _So close, but so far away._

Cas turns slightly on his side in his sleep, and his profile catches in a moonbeam cutting through the window on the other side of the room, peaceful face and tired stubble and parted lips illuminated, and Dean _aches -_

And he falls asleep.

**— — —**

Dean dreams about Hell, pain, suffering, screams, and white-hot heat. He dreams about a hand searing into his flesh, gripping him tight and bringing him home. He dreams about angels in dirty trench coats, and piercing blue eyes, and messy hair, a deep and raspy voice, and questions. He dreams of so many questions, and he isn’t sure he knows how to answer at least half of them.

**— — —**

When he opens his eyes in the morning, Cas is still out cold. Dean doesn’t want to wake him up, so he shuts the door quietly behind him and makes his way downstairs.

  
Sam’s in the kitchen, flipping pancakes and singing along to some peppy pop song that Dean hadn’t known he knew the words to. Eileen’s at the table, sipping coffee and scrolling through something on her laptop. She smiles when she notices Dean.

“Your angel not up yet?”

Dean shakes his head, sits down across from her, deliberately ignores the _your angel._ If he had a nickel for every time someone called Cas that, he’d have enough money to buy out Amazon. And Cas isn’t an angel, not anymore. That shouldn’t shock Dean too much, but it does. “He’s pretty tired.”

Eileen hums. “No kidding.”

“Here.” Sam sets a mug of joe and a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs in front of him. “Pancakes should be ready soon.”

“Thanks.”

Sam grins. Dean doesn’t think he’s seen him this happy since…since _Jess,_ honestly, and that was a long time ago. It makes him feel a little better, to know that at least Sam’s got things worked out.

“So,” Dean says. “What’s the plan for the day?”

Sam seems to falter. “You know, I can’t remember the last time you asked me that where I didn’t answer with some hunt I’d found.”

“Ok.” Dean shrugs. “We try to be normal, then. What do normal people do?”

“How about a rest day?” Eileen suggests. “We can watch a movie tonight.”

“Sounds good.” Dean takes another generous bite of bacon. “There’s still a lot of stuff Cas hasn’t seen.”

Sam makes a disgusted face. “Don’t talk while you’ve got food in your mouth. And how _is_ Cas, now that he’s back?”

Dean looks down at his plate. “He’s hanging in there.”

“Let me rephrase that - How are _you,_ now that he’s back?”

“I’m fine,” Dean says quickly. Too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just…” Sam shoots a glance over at Eileen, who shrugs. Sam sighs. “When he left, you…I think you might have left some things unsaid.”

“Who told you that?” Dean asks. “Because I sure as shit didn’t.”

“No one did, Dean, I just sort of got the impression that…well…”

“What?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Eileen says exasperatedly. “We all know you’re in love with him. When are you going to tell him?”

“I - I’m not - “ Dean tries to say, but then Cas walks in, rubbing at his eyes blearily, and Dean shuts his pie-hole.

“My apologies for sleeping so late,” Cas says through a yawn, graciously accepting the cup of coffee Sam hands him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Eileen says. “You seemed you like you needed it.”

“Morning, Cas,” Dean mutters.

Cas nods at him. “Morning, Dean.”

Sam clears his throat. “So, Cas, we were thinking of having a pretty quiet day,” he says. “Eileen and I will probably go to the grocery store later, pick up some things for dinner.”

Cas nods. “And Dean and I will stay here and research our next hunt?”

Sam blinks. “Uh, actually, no. We’re gonna…we’re gonna take a break from hunting.” He gives Dean a look like, _Didn’t you tell him?_

Dean shrugs. _It didn’t come up._

Sam rolls his eyes. _You’re hopeless._

“Oh.” Cas frowns as Sam dishes a perfectly golden-brown pancake onto his plate. “For how long? A few weeks?”

“Um…”

Dean clears his throat. “Forever. I think.”

_God,_ it feels weird to say that out loud. It makes it real, no longer just a dumb idea, but _real._

It’s a fucking _strange_ feeling.

“Forever,” Cas says faintly. He makes eye contact with Dean. “Is that what you want?”

Sam and Eileen look over at him, too, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah,” Dean says, hearing himself as if from far away as he stares into Cas’s eyes. “Yeah, I want it.”

Something seems to settle in Cas’s expression. “All right,” he says finally, starting to pour generous amounts of syrup onto his pancake. “It’s about time.”

“That’s what I’ve been _saying,_ ” Sam grumbles, but Dean doesn’t pay him any attention.

He’s really stopping. He’s not going to be a hunter anymore. _They’re_ not going to be hunters anymore. He can’t tell if it’s relieving or terrifying.

It seems like it might be a little of both.

**— — —**

After breakfast, Cas ends up on the couch, surfing through channels, while Dean sits in the easy chair, unsure of what to do. Usually, he’d be taking this time to clean a blade, patch up a tear in his clothing, sharpen one of his knives. But he doesn’t really have a reason to do that anymore.

Hunting for fifteen years and then quitting just like that, cold turkey…it’s _hard._

So Dean just _sits,_ and watches bits of random episodes of random TV shows with Cas, and tries not to think too much about everything he has to say to him, how all he wants is to just _touch_ him, touch his hands and his hair and his shoulders and his chest, and make up for a decade’s worth of lost time by doing it.

Eventually, Cas settles on reruns of _Chopped,_ and Dean stares at the screen and thinks about how weird it is that he’s lazing around on his ass watching people cook while someone out there is probably getting sucked dry by a vampire, or murdered by some vengeful spirit.

“Dean,” Cas says. “Stop.”

Sometimes he hates how well Cas can read him.

“I don’t know if I _can,_ ” Dean confesses.

Cas turns his head and looks at him. “You will. Focus on the TV.”

Dean nods, but he isn’t sure how well that’s going to work.

Sam chooses that moment to pop in, saving Dean from what would have probably been a pretty unsuccessful attempt to distract himself. “Hey, Eileen and I are going to the store,” he says. “We’ll probably be a couple of hours.”

Dean frowns. “A couple of hours? Exactly how much food are you planning on cooking tonight?”

Sam coughs, glances in Cas’s direction. Cas’s eyes are glued to the screen, and he doesn’t seem to be listening. “I mean, we’ll be gone for a _while._ Which will give you…some _time to yourselves._ So you can - ”

“Ok, yeah,” Dean says quickly, feeling the tips of his ears burn. “Understood. Have fun. Wear a rubber.”

Sam flips him the bird, Eileen calls out a goodbye, and the door shuts with a final slam.

Dean is alone with Cas. He was alone with him in the Empty (at least, _he_ didn’t see anything else while he was down there), and then in the car, and last night, in the bedroom, when he’d tried to say something and Cas had stopped him. But this is different, because now someone other than himself is expecting him to actually do something about it.

Right. Easy as pie.

It still takes him a good fifteen minutes to work up the courage to say anything.

“Hey, Cas, so - “ he starts, right as Cas says, “Dean, there’s - “

“You go,” Dean says. Maybe he’ll just say something about the show, who he thinks is going to lose the entreé round, and they can have a conversation about that, instead.

Cas nods. “I want to apologize for how I left you. When I told you - “ He takes a deep breath. “When I told you I loved you.”

“Oh,” Dean says, but he can hardly hear himself over the pounding in his ears. He attempts to regain control of his breathing, realizes a little too late when Cas starts talking again that he should have cut in here, stopped him early on.

“I did it to save you,” Cas says, looking directly at Dean because he almost always does, and every part of Dean’s brain is telling him to _look away,_ but he’s stuck, stuck with Cas’s words and his truth and his eyes. “I did it because I knew it meant that you would be ok. But Dean - “ He breaks off for a moment, swallows. Dean can’t make himself look anywhere else. “What I said to you was true. I didn’t lie once. I do love you, and - and I’m sorry for springing it on you like that, without a warning.”

Dean manages to unstick his jaw. “ _Cas -_ “

“Don’t feel pressured into saying anything,” Cas continues. His face is sorry, pleading. “It’s not your job to acknowledge it. We can forget all about it, if that’s what you want. I just didn’t want to lie to you.” He smiles weakly. “Because you’re my friend.”

Dean manages to wait about three seconds before throwing up his hands. “Are you _shitting me, Cas?_ ”

Cas frowns. “What do you mean?”

Dean finds himself standing. “I thought we’d agreed never to tell each other! Like - Like some unspoken pact not to say anything, because it was never the right time and it was never going to work out, right? You were an angel, and I was a hunter, and there was the apocalypse, and there was Lucifer, and there was Chuck, and then there was _Jack,_ and there was just no way it was ever going to happen!” He brings a hand up to his face. “At least, that’s what I thought! And here you go, telling me you love me, and then _dying_ before I can even start to process any of it, and I thought I’d never see you again, and now you’re _here,_ and I - “

“I’m confused,” Cas says slowly, eyebrows knit tightly together, getting to his feet. “You…you knew?”

“ _No,_ ” Dean says. “But I sort of did, yeah, and - Listen, I never said anything because I never thought it would be _allowed_ for me to do that.”

“So you’re saying,” Cas says, just as torturously slow as before. “That you reciprocate my feelings?”

Dean hides his face in his hands. “ _Yes,_ Cas. I do.”

“Say it.”

Dean raises his head. The way Cas looks reminds him of a drowning man. “What?”

“It’s ok, now. I’m not an angel anymore. You’re not a hunter. I need to hear you say it, Dean,” he says desperately. “ _Please._ ”

Dean inhales deeply, stares head-on. “Cas. I love you.”

Cas sucks in a shaky, shuddering breath. “Oh, _Dean,_ ” he says quietly, barely a whisper.

Dean takes a few steps forward, raises his hands tentatively. “Can I - ?”

Cas doesn’t say anything, just closes the gap between them, and somewhere between his hands on Cas’s face and their lips touching, Dean loses himself completely.

When they finally pull away, Cas closes his eyes and touches his forehead to Dean’s. Dean mimics him.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” Cas murmurs.

“Everything,” Dean says back.

“Don’t be.”

“Kiss me?”

“Of course.”

And even though it took forever to get there, Dean has never been more content in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope that wasn't too incoherent. there's a lot i don't know, such as:
> 
> \- who is jack?? jack is their kid??? but also god??????
> 
> \- i hardly know who eileen is. does she have a house? i hope she has a house because it's the primary setting of this fic
> 
> \- does sam even really have a personality
> 
> \- why did i write destiel fanfiction unironically in the year of our lord satan, 2020
> 
> anyway, follow my [tumblr](https://connorswhisk.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/connorswhisk) if you wanna see me scream about how crazy the spn/destiel conspiracy is


End file.
